Strands of a life
by Roma Blackadder
Summary: Bits from Sherlock and John. Slash, a bit intense in some places.
1. Chapter 1

"Uh" moaned Sherlock's mobile, lying on the arm of the chair. John looked at it with an expression of pure irritation. He watched as Sherlock sat there seemingly oblivious to his connection to the outside world trying to reach him. Seconds of silence went past and then, lazily, Sherlock checked the message.

"57" stated John through gritted teeth. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the desk, a slight query in his eyes. "That's 57 times she's texted you."

"You've been counting?" mused Sherlock with one eyebrow raised. Doctor Watson was suddenly embarrassed, blood flowed to his face to show the discomfort the question had made him experience.

"No…" he said, looking at the floor, trying to bat the question away.

"You know that you're really bad at lying John" purred the consultant detective. He found the inability John had to hide emotion endearing. John stared at the floorboards wishing he hadn't said anything. What was Sherlock going to think now? He was going to ridicule him for his weakness. "You're jealous, aren't you? You're jealous of her. Why?" John refused to give an answer; he just continued sinking in to his mental abyss of embarrassment. He heard the slight creak in the floorboards as the other man got up and came towards him. He felt the ivory hand guide his chin up so both men were looking directly at each other, he couldn't look away.

Sherlock Holmes had a remarkable face; his eyes were a mix of peridot and sapphire, his skin was pale and smooth, his cheekbones could cut someone and his hair was the deepest brown that framed his features perfectly. John could never resist it or stop gazing at it.

"Because…" half-mumbled the ex-soldier.

"Yes…" guided Sherlock.

"Because you like her. That's why you haven't changed her text tone from that filth. You know how to, you just haven't!" There was a danger that the doctor could start to cry, he could feel it coming to that.

"Am I not allowed to like her?" Sherlock hadn't broken eye contact with John because he was looking for a specific answer to satisfy and electrify him.

"No, because you're mine." That was the sentence Sherlock always craved. He knew how to make John feel better, how to make him feel appreciated but Sherlock was selfish and couldn't express his feelings in words because they were so foreign to him.

He raced forward and kissed John with such passion that both of them nearly fell off the chair. His fingers worked nimbly to unbutton the doctor's shirt. John's were less graceful but they were able to keep up with Sherlock. Sherlock moved from John's lips to his jawline, smothering it with kisses, then down his neck to his exposed shoulder. The heat of his skin warmed Sherlock who was naturally cold. Soon belts were discarded and then the pile grew until both were fully unclothed and on the floor in a mixture of passion and need for each other, to know the other felt the same.

Sherlock's phone recorded every sound that was made.

"Uh" the sound emanated from Sherlock's phone.

"Who's that?" questioned Lestrade glancing sideways at the consulting detective without uncrossing his arms to signal that the interest wasn't great but it was enough.

"John" almost laughed Sherlock, staring straight ahead. Lestrade looked shocked for a second wondering if he could ever get the metal image he had just gained out of his mind.

_**Come home. I have a surprise for you. J**_

_**From: John**_

_**Sent: 11:34pm**_


	2. Chapter 2

John looked in to the swimming pool, helpless, wondering how long he had before the bomb under his coat went off or how long until the assassin delivered the fatal shot; one of them was going to kill him. He raised his eyes to look at Sherlock. John could see the consultant detective's face fall as he took in what was going on. Moriarty had made it impossible, or so he thought. Doctor Watson had a plan.

He grabbed the consultant criminal round the neck and pulled him in front so there was no way of shooting John without shooting Moriarty.

"Oooh, you've outsmarted me" hummed the mastermind, "NOT!" He smirked in Sherlock's direction, then time slowed down and sound stopped. John watched, unable to react, as Moriarty yelled the command that trained the sniper lasers on Sherlock and then shot him once, twice, three, four, five times. The so-called sociopath fell lifeless to the floor and John ran, as if in quicksand, to his side vainly trying to get a sign of life.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He listened to 3.4 seconds of silence and then it came, louder and more urgent than before. It was a sound Sherlock never wanted to hear but had to face occasionally. He quietly got out of bed and made his way through the darkness. John had nightmares but he never said what they were about so Sherlock could only conclude they were about the war. Sometimes he spent whole nights listening to his companion scream and howl in fear and pain, unconscious, in the next room; it was torture.

John had declared a no bed sharing rule so that some of his privacy remained intact but it was times like tonight when Sherlock knew he could break it to bring some comfort.

John woke up in a cold sweat with a warm hand placed on his shoulder. Sherlock had sat patiently and waited for his counterpart to awake, this was as far as the sociopath went in respecting boundaries and rules. John had never been gladder to see him.

Sherlock was taken off guard by an almost rugby tackle of a hug that brought him to the bed.

"I thought he'd killed you" muttered John, still slightly out of breath from his mental ordeal, "I thought you were dead, that I was never going to see you again. Never do that to me. Ever. I mean it. I don't think I'd be able to cope." The dream hadn't sat well with John and it now brought tears to his eyes. He cried for a love he had almost lost, a fate that wouldn't happen because it had already been lived.

Holmes never really knew what to do when people started crying so he held John and stroked his back the way his mother had once done. He breathed in John's smell and made soothing noises in an attempt to calm his lover. The crying eventually stopped and the two men were left to hold each other in contentment. It was perfect.


	3. Chapter 3

John woke up and instantly knew that the consultant detective (who was always the big spoon) was awake to. It wasn't strange; it was relaxed and a bit hazy. John blinked sleepily a couple of times just enjoying the heat of another person against him.

Sherlock eased his head out of John's shoulder and lazily drew circles on his back with his nose. This always gave John a slight tingle of anticipation, to have it in the morning was the perfect wake up call.

"Morning" the ex-army doctor half mumbled

"Morning"

"Do you want to get up?"

"Let's just stay here for a bit, shall we?"

"Sure" John smiled contentedly. He had never been so comfortable in another person's presence, so at home, so loved.

They lay in fuzzy sunshine for what seemed like a happy eternity and then John dared to look at the clock, an anchor back to reality. It was 8:47am on a Sunday. It was time to get up. John eased himself out of bed and picked up his dressing gown from the floor. Sherlock let out a whimper and put on a face that John knew as the "let's stay sleeping" face when his lover turned to look at him. John smiled and kissed Homes on the temple before going through to make toast and tea.

The clink of teaspoon in mug and the crunch of knife against toast was a lure for the consultant detective to get out of bed. He knew how it would be. The tea would have slightly too much milk and sugar in and the toast would be basically warm bread with a slight crunch soaked in margarine; it's how John liked his breakfast and it's how Sherlock liked John. Holmes brought the sheet around him and got out of bed. He wondered slightly drunkenly towards an almost glowing doctor and gently fell into his back.

John once again had the warmth of the other man and it made him smile. Tea, toast and Sherlock – this was how life was meant to be.


End file.
